To music bent, is my retired mind, And fain would I some song of pleasure sing; But in vain joys no comfort now I find, From heavenly thoughts, all true delight doth spring: Thy power, O God, Thy mercies, to record, Will sweeten every note and every word. All earthly pomp or beauty to express, Is but to carve in snow, on waves to write; Celestial things, though men conceive them less, Yet fullest are they in themselves of light: Such beams they yield as know no means to die, Such heat they cast as lifts the spirit high. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOR THE INVESTITURE by CECIL DAY LEWIS SELF-ANALYSIS by DAVID IGNATOW DREAM LIFE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO -, WITH A ROSE by SIDNEY LANIER ANCHORED TO THE INFINITE by EDWIN MARKHAM THE WALL STREET PIT, MAY, 1901 by EDWIN MARKHAM MONODY ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM MARION REEDY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |